


Whiskey

by bottlefame_brewglory



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottlefame_brewglory/pseuds/bottlefame_brewglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years apart Red finds Lizzie in a bar. He has to save her one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey

It was eerily quiet. The trees stood as sentinels while sheets of white fell from the murky grey sky. A chill hung in the air, the fog seeming blue as it seeped amongst the treacherous brambles and ivy, slinking up the trunk of the great redwoods, reaching for sunlight that hadn’t been seen in weeks. The snow continued to fall, relentlessly covering the path they stood upon. She stood only metres from him, her face a mask of fury.

Her black hair, inky and stark against the white, fell like a waterfall rippling down her back. Tendrils stuck to her forehead, slick with sweat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Delicate hands usually so soft were clenched so tightly it seemed as if her knuckles would split and the white of her bones would be exposed to the world. Perfect lips pinched tightly together, eyes slitted as she glared at him. He laughed, almost deliriously. _She’s looking quite the same as the first time I saw her, all those years ago._

The windows were frosted, the heat from inside making the air thick and heavy. The thudding bass thrummed through his chest, pairing with the heat that only whiskey could leave in its wake. Waitresses drifted around him, trays balanced precariously while they avoided drunken, groping hands. They seemed to be the only ones who hadn’t noticed her. Perhaps she was a regular now, but the rest of the patrons stared, shamelessly.

She danced with her head tossed back to stare at the ceiling, her mouth open in silent laughter. Her eyes glistening with mirth, flicked around the room, piercing in their intensity, as if not able to settle on one person or place. And then they jumped to meet his. They burned blue like cornflowers, like he remembered. Make-up was smudged beneath them as if she had laughed so hard she had cried. She probably had. He stood, knees roughly banging against the table in his hurry, as she drifted over to him, smiling as if it was normal for him to be here, to see him after so long. Her nails sunk slightly into the table as she leant against it.

“Do you want to dance?”

The next few seconds, hours, months were a hurricane. She was a hurricane now, a force of nature. She’d become stronger, wild, had no choice but to be.

A deep melancholy gripped him as he mapped her skin, his lips gliding over the white puckered flesh that marred her porcelain forearm. A mark that had so much meaning; flesh that had forced them to be driven apart. She stared at him; grief flooded her eyes, lips parted and teeth closed as if trapping words behind them. His lips brushed against her forehead. The night bled into morning.

She drank her coffee, black as her hair, but he already knew that. Her blue eyes were bright as her toes curled against his thigh. Her laugh was loud, almost too loud for her humble home, as she watched the morning news. She laughed like there was hope in their story.

They went out together again, dancing, drinking and laughing. He would watch as she flirted with the bartender, the vodka shot sliding across the bar free of charge. She looked back at him and winked. They stumbled home. He held her thick tresses back as she vomited onto the road. Fear and suspicion crawled its way up his spine.

The bottle neck was clenched so tightly in his hand he feared it may snap. Her eyes were red rimmed, slightly glazed from either tears or alcohol. It was probably both. Her voice was croaky. She pleaded with him not to leave, (as if he had the strength to), that she would quit the drink. He believed her.

The flowers had been beautiful, but she never got to see them, thrown from his hand as if they had burned him. He rushed forward to her, passed out next to the toilet. The empty tequila bottle reflecting the yellow light, discarded next to her.

When she woke he was by her side, like so many times before, the soft beeping of the machines that surrounded them, the only noise. She cried, tears tracking their way down her cheeks, over her pink lips. He was preparing to save her once again.

A rivulet of melted snow traced down his cheek. His eyes focused back to her. Her own were shuttered and blank. He opened his mouth and then closed it, not sure if he wanted her to stay. Unsure of what he could say. She said that he had driven her to this, to the drink, to the reckless lifestyle. He should have never have left, it had destroyed her, to be on her own, to be without him. She didn’t care if it had been for her safety. _Fuck my safety, Red; I want to be with you, don’t leave me again._

He stepped forward, ran his hand through her hair, brushed his lips against hers. They pressed their foreheads together, his thumb gently rubbing over her scar.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

A promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


End file.
